Fade to Black
by Broedy
Summary: It all began after Tijuana, after hearing Red John's laugh. Jane's relationship with a co-worker changed and none of the others know. Episode follow ups, updated post 2x11.
1. Fade to Black

**Fade to Black**

It was the laugh that got him. He'd imagined that sound for years. It taunted him in waking hours and in sleep. So when Patrick Jane heard Red John's actual laugh for the first time, sitting in a run-down Tijuana motel room with two dead bodies in the next room, he felt the walls closing in.

No one spoke much on the way back to the office. Rigsby drove while Lisbon took shotgun. Jane sat alone in the back, in the shadows. He caught Lisbon turning to check on him just once, but something in his eyes made her look away.

It was late. The Bureau was deserted when they arrived, everyone gone except Cho and Van Pelt. They'd already heard what had happened but they still stayed. Rigsby made a half-hearted attempt at levity, suggesting they go get a beer. No one responded until Cho got up from his desk with a sigh and headed out. Rigsby waited to see if Van Pelt would go with them but she kept her eyes down, reading a case file. He caught Lisbon giving him a sympathetic smile before he followed after Cho.

Jane had worked for years to control his emotions. His anger. He had prepared himself for the day he would exact his revenge on Red John. See him face to face. But he wasn't ready for the overwhelming fear that gripped him now. He'd been close, closer than he'd ever been to his wife and daughter's killer. He wasn't supposed to be scared.

Jane sat down at his desk, his back to Van Pelt, and had to stop his hands from shaking. He knew Lisbon would be watching him when he walked out the door. He just needed to make it outside. He balled his fists and dug them in his pockets, managing a tight smile as he passed her office door. From the look on her upturned face, bathed in the light of her desk lamp, he knew he had gotten away with it. He didn't see the frown that followed once he'd gone.

Outside he leaned against the door of his car, not trusting himself to drive. Not wanting to go home to a house that was mostly empty. He couldn't lie in his daughter's room and see that smiling face on the wall, painted in blood. Not tonight. Not after that laugh.

He was so consumed with the thought that he barely registered her footsteps. It took him a full ten seconds to even look up when she stopped in front of him. Her face was full of concern but she said nothing. He was glad.

Her movements were tentative when she took a step forward and unexpectedly put her arms around him. His hands were still in his pockets and he froze for a moment. He waited for her to pull away but she didn't. She held him gently, like he might break. When her hand touched the back of his head, Jane felt tears spring to his eyes, unwelcome and dangerous. He blinked them away before she let go.

When she didn't move away Jane was caught in a moment of heady need. He felt her warm gaze pierce his fear and render it mute for now. It was a blessing.

0 0 0 0

But there was no conquering this sort of fear for long. This loss. It didn't matter what he did, Jane couldn't get past it. It was still there, close to the surface. Black edges in the corners of his vision.

They'd gone to a hotel. He couldn't take her to his place and she didn't invite him to hers. He'd managed to be gentle when he wanted to abandon courtesy, and she'd responded with an openness that brought him comfort – even desire – no matter how brief.

The moment was over.

Van Pelt kept her eyes averted as she buttoned her shirt. Jane was slower in his movements, though just as discreet. She was already tying her hair back into its ponytail when he found his voice.

"I'm sorry."

She paused, as if working out how she should act. She still didn't look at him. "For what?"

"This probably wasn't a good idea."

"Maybe not. No one needs to know." She got up and checked her hair in the mirror, then chanced a glance at him in the reflection. "I wasn't exactly planning on announcing it at the next team briefing."

Jane smiled, enough that she briefly returned the expression.

"I probably shouldn't have left my car at work though," she said. It sounded more like an excuse to leave and she shifted closer to the door.

He got to his feet. "I'll give you a ride."

"It's okay."

Jane stayed where he was, accepting her at her word.

"I'll see you tomorrow," Van Pelt said as she collected her jacket from a chair.

He nodded in response and attempted to smile again. She looked at him for a long moment, waiting in case he asked her to stay a little longer, he suspected. He almost did. He could feel the fear creeping in again, but Jane knew it would be a easier now. He would stay here for a while. He had the room all night. By morning he would be okay.

"Good night, Jane," Van Pelt said, her hand on the door knob.

"Good night, Grace."

After the sound of the door closing there was silence, but Jane stood still and listened until he could make out the hum of the traffic. There was a faint siren. He imagined he could hear conversations from the neighboring rooms.

Anything but that laugh.


	2. Gray Area

**Gray Area**

He never slept on the office couch. He lay on it often enough, going through the motions of closing his eyes, breathing deeply. But sleep did not come. Sleep rarely came for Patrick Jane.

He listened to the noises of the office. His co-workers. Phone conversations. Typing. Arguments over who ate the last bagel. He listened to all of it – learning, cataloging, remembering.

The sound started to dissipate as evening fell. He hadn't heard Cho and Rigsby for a while, or Lisbon. Nor had he heard Van Pelt, though he knew she was still at her desk. He hadn't heard her chair roll on the floor or the click of her heels. He'd remember if he heard her heels.

She never wore high heels to work, or skirts for that matter. But today she did.

Van Pelt had legs. Nice legs, actually. Jane appreciated the female form like any heterosexual male. He wasn't blind. And he knew Van Pelt didn't wear the skirt for Rigsby. Funny, lovable Rigsby. It would be better for her if she had.

It had been a moment of weakness. A brief interlude in his carefully controlled, even-tempered existence. He would give up that control, that evenness, when it came time to face Red John. Until then it was needed. If only he'd remembered that the night he came back from Tijuana.

He'd pushed things too far at the gallery. It was a means to an end, staged for the artist's benefit. Jane knew how to get what he wanted out of a suspect. But he knew what the ruse would mean to Van Pelt, how it would embarrass her. It had nothing to do with the misogynistic comments and everything to do with the suggestion of a connection between them. Even if it was all a lie.

Jane knew this but he did it anyway. Another moment of weakness. No, not weakness, he decided. Cruelty. She didn't deserve to be treated that way, not after what had happened at the hotel a few short weeks ago.

He opened his eyes only slightly, his pale lashes barely moving as he looked across at her desk. She was reading a file, head bent intently over the paper. One hand massaged her neck and her eyes blinked more rapidly than usual. She was waiting, staying back when she could have left an hour ago.

"Don't you have a home to go to?" he asked, his voice thicker than usual due to the angle of his throat against the sofa arm.

She looked up. She didn't smile or blush. Still annoyed at him then. That made it easier.

"Lisbon has Rigsby and Cho doing extra paperwork over your little trip to LA," she said emotionlessly. "You'd be doing it too, if you weren't just a consultant."

She glanced down, embarrassed. A chink in her armor. "I didn't mean _just_ a consultant. I meant you're not an agent."

She frowned, keeping her eyes averted. "You know what I meant."

Jane's eyes were fully open now. He watched her patiently, waiting until she glanced in his direction to see if he was still staring at her.

"What?"

"I don't mean to make you nervous," he said.

"You don't," she retorted quickly. Too quickly – did she not know who she was talking to?

"You wore a skirt," he pointed out.

"So? I wear skirts."

"No you don't."

Van Pelt's eyes narrowed. "You think I wore it for you? That's a little arrogant even for you, Jane."

He smiled faintly and his shoulders twitched in a shrug. "Arrogant, yes. Incorrect, no."

Her gaze was impassive. "You think you're right about everything and everyone. But you're not."

Jane paused, then got up in a lithe movement for someone who'd been prone and unmoving for several hours. He walked towards her. His expression did not waver as she sat up straighter in her chair, a hint of color rising on her neck. He crouched down before her, his eyes locked with hers.

"Don't waste your time on me, Grace. Or your heart. Stop it, now."

She looked away, speechless. She probably had plenty to say, actually, but Jane could see she was deciding how to do it. How to deny it, how to blast him with a few cutting words to send him on his way. She waited until he wondered if she would just ignore him, then turned back to face him.

"Why do you believe you deserve no forgiveness?" she asked.

Jane, for once, didn't have a reply. Not when she was staring at him so intently, her own hurt forgotten. He clenched his jaw, refusing to betray his steady countenance, to give her any idea that she'd penetrated his façade.

He stood up and her eyes followed his, never faltering.

"It's late. Time I was leaving," he said. Not trusting himself to say anything else he smiled until his eyes crinkled, though there was little warmth in it. He was going home to an empty house full of memories and promises unfulfilled.

She didn't reply as he walked slowly out of the office, didn't follow him, didn't catch his hand as he was leaving and press close to his side. She didn't follow him to his car and slip silently into the passenger seat and wait for him to start the engine, to make him be the one to choose where they ended up.

Van Pelt went back to reading her file.

Jane hated the fact that part of him – a small part but one that was definitely there – was disappointed that she did.

It was a weakness.


	3. Whiter Shade of Pale

**Whiter Shade of Pale**

She stayed away from the office for three days.

Rigsby was on medical leave. Cho grumbled about being left with all the paperwork while Lisbon farmed out cases to other teams. No one mentioned Van Pelt to explain her absence. No one had to. But Jane couldn't let it go.

"Did you talk to her this morning?" he asked, poking his head inside Lisbon's office. She didn't bother looking up from her work.

"Leave it alone, Jane."

"You should talk to her. You know, woman to woman. Let her know it's not her fault Dan Hollenbeck wooed his way into her life in order to kill me. She isn't responsible for Rigsby's injuries. He's being waited on hand and foot by his mother and probably having the time of his life."

"She'll be back in a couple of days," Lisbon said, glancing up at him. She kept some of the exasperation from her tone when she saw Jane's puppy dog eyes. "Why don't you call her, if you're so worried?"

"I totaled her car."

"And damaged a few others. Including mine," Lisbon reminded him.

"She won't want to talk to me." The heaviness in Jane's voice caused her to pay more attention. Lisbon narrowed her eyes slightly and didn't miss the look that flashed across his face, like he'd been caught. He shrugged off the door jamb and disappeared into the main office.

Jane took up residence on the couch, but his mind was restless. There were no cases to distract him, no friendly team bickering to amuse him. Cho had already rebuked any conversation he tried to start and the sight of Rigsby and Van Pelt's empty chairs only served to darken his mood.

There was nothing keeping him there. Lisbon was too busy with work to notice his absence. Cho would probably welcome it. But Jane had nowhere else to go, at least nowhere that would offer any solace.

With a decisive grunt he pushed himself up. It couldn't hurt. He was concerned about her. If Lisbon wasn't going to confront her then he would just have to do it himself.

0 0 0 0

He knew she would be at home. No running back to mom and dad in Iowa to escape what had happened. That wasn't Van Pelt. But he hadn't expected her to take time off work either. He knew she was mortified that she'd allowed Dan Hollenbeck into their world, embarrassed that she'd been duped. But Jane was surprised that she appeared to be having trouble facing them. He didn't like it when Van Pelt surprised him.

She answered the door after his first knock, appeared fully dressed and groomed – no unwashed hair and three day old pajamas for Grace Van Pelt. Her face showed no emotion upon seeing him, which he had to give her credit for.

"I got my sight back," he said by way of hello. He followed it with a bright smile.

"I see that," she replied evenly.

"I just thought I'd stop by and mention it, seeing as how you haven't been at work. I guessed you maybe hadn't heard."

She exhaled audibly. "Lisbon told me."

"She did? Good. I'm glad."

Van Pelt's fingers curled around the edge of the door. She made no move to invite him in. She just waited until he spoke again.

"Rigsby's fine, too."

"What do you want, Jane?" Her patience had run out. There was no warmth in her voice and Jane didn't like it.

"I think you should come back to work," he said with all sincerity.

"I will. I'll be back soon."

"I think you should come back now."

Van Pelt's mouth tightened. She thought better of what she was going to say and remained silent.

"Can I use your bathroom?" he asked, brightening.

She couldn't hide the quirk of her lips. "That's pretty lame, Jane."

"What are you talking about? I have to go."

"You just want to see inside my apartment. Look for clues. Look for anything so you can psychoanalyze me whenever you like. Whenever you're bored and looking to amuse yourself."

Jane's brow wrinkled at her accusatory tone. "I just have to use the bathroom," he said quietly. He held her gaze until she looked down with a sigh.

"Fine," she replied, defeated.

Van Pelt stood back and allowed him to enter. He didn't make a show of looking around as she pointed to a doorway down the hall. His glances were more subtle, and he saw what he expected. Van Pelt was neat. Her décor was understated, even sparse, as if she had just moved in or spent little time there. There were family pictures on the bookshelf – frame after frame of smiling friends and relatives with their arms slung around each other's shoulders. A man holding up a fish in a clichéd pose. A wedding party. If he didn't know better he would swear they were the photos that came with the frames. Perfect moments in time.

He looked at himself in her bathroom mirror as he hunched over the sink to wash his hands. Stared deep into his own eyes as he had done so often since regaining his sight. Ignored the voice in his head that challenged him on what he was doing there. He was just checking on a colleague, he answered silently.

Jane lingered briefly, resisting the temptation to open her medicine cabinet. _That_ would be cliché, he decided. There would be no surprises there. He wandered back into the living room to find Van Pelt standing there waiting for him, her arms crossed over her chest. She met his steady gaze, her face devoid of emotion once more.

"Better?" she asked.

"Yes, thank you." He stared at her, and it became a silent battle. She was waiting for him to start looking around the room, to put his observation skills and brilliant memory to use. He steadfastly refused to give her the satisfaction of predicting his behavior.

"Why aren't you at work?" she asked eventually and he knew he'd won that round.

"Nothing to do. No new case yet," he replied with a small shrug.

"When's Rigsby due back?"

"Not for another week. There's never been so much food in the kitchen."

Another small smile was her response, but he'd yet to see any real emotion on her face. He wondered when Van Pelt had gotten so good at hiding her feelings. She was usually an open book for him. There was no hidden agenda. No games. Unlike him. But this new empty façade perplexed Jane. It was a puzzle, and this time he couldn't help himself.

"Have you spoken to anyone? About Dan?" he probed, and the calm, experienced Jane persona was in full swing.

Van Pelt's arms drew in a little tighter. "I gave Lisbon my report."

"I don't mean just what happened that night."

"I know what you meant, Jane," she said coldly.

"If you want, you could talk to me."

She smirked. "Why would I want to do that?"

"Because…" Jane stopped. They weren't just colleagues. They weren't quite friends. They'd been more than that for a brief moment – something he chose not to think about but it was harder to ignore as she glared at him. "Sometimes it helps to talk," he said instead.

"Hypocrite."

Van Pelt walked over to her breakfast counter and kept her back to him, busying her hands by arranging a stack of catalogues.

"Okay, you got me there," he said lightly, hoping to steer the conversation into sunnier territory.

But when Van Pelt turned around a few moments later none of the anger had left her.

"Just because what happened between us… happened, doesn't mean you know me, Jane."

His eyes sought the floor. "I know that."

"Then why did you say those things to me? About my past? Were you trying to hurt me?"

"No," he said, looking up. He felt a pang of guilt. It had partly been a guess, the rest he suspected from the way she'd quickly left the hotel room a couple of months earlier. She'd shut down faster than he had after their impromptu coupling, and had never brought it up again. Not directly. Jane got the impression he even thought about it more than she did.

"I'm sorry," he said gently. "I shouldn't have mentioned it."

She wasn't letting him off so easily. "You go on about Rigsby's feelings for me, you ask all those questions about Dan. Insisting you wanted to meet him. Why? You didn't suspect him of anything then. You just wanted to pry. You're supposed to be intuitive. Did it never occur to you that I don't want to discuss these things with you?"

Van Pelt pressed her lips together, as if forcing herself to shut up lest she give more away. From the look on her face Jane could tell she wished she hadn't said that much in the first place.

He took a step towards her. "Grace…"

Her eyes flashed at the sound of her first name and she flushed with emotion. "You should go," she said, biting the inside of one cheek.

Jane hesitated. He didn't want to leave, which surprised him most of all. In situations like these he was quick to run, to make his escape. He didn't want the emotional engagement. He didn't want the memories of his family which were so quick to surface if he allowed them.

But Van Pelt was staring hard at him again and he found himself backing away, giving her what she asked. He waited as she opened the door for him.

"You'll be back in a couple of days?" he murmured, pausing next to her as he exited.

She looked up and met his eyes, her face only inches from his, then nodded.

"Good." He took a few steps outside and glanced back. "I'm sorry about banging up your car."

She was stunned into silence for a moment, not expecting the comment. Then the façade returned. "I was always lousy at giving directions," she joked darkly.

He smiled at her attempt at humor – at her attempt to put him at ease. Van Pelt was still in there somewhere.

"I'll see you soon," he said.

"Apparently so," she replied. After only a brief pause she closed the door.


	4. Follow the Yellow Brick Road

**Follow the Yellow Brick Road**

"You knew he was going to do that, didn't you?"

Jane looked up from his crossword. "What?" he asked, feigning surprise.

Van Pelt's eyes narrowed. "The whole 'do what you want to do most in the world' suggestion."

"You mean, did I know Rigsby was going to kiss you? Absolutely not. I thought he'd go for the left over pizza."

The smile died on Van Pelt's lips when Jane's own serene expression did not waver. As she stared at him a faint blush crept up her neck and colored her cheeks.

"Oh."

"But it's interesting that you thought I'd think that," Jane mused before concentrating on the crossword once more.

When Rigsby emerged from Lisbon's office Van Pelt turned back to her computer, busying herself with her case notes. She studiously avoided looking at him, and Rigsby in turn was making a show of not looking at her. From his seat on the couch, Jane just smiled to himself.

"Next time, someone else can get the damn case closed pizza," Cho said after he entered briskly and dropped the box on his desk.

"The first one didn't count, it was still your turn," Lisbon reminded him, close behind. "With Rigsby getting the all clear we have double the reason to celebrate."

She lifted the lid to take a slice, then crinkled her nose. "Pineapple?"

"It was already made," Cho said.

"You mean it wasn't sold at lunch time and you got it cheap," Lisbon groused.

"I like pineapple," Rigsby piped up, reaching over Cho's shoulder.

"Imagine my shock," she commented, before returning to her office with pizza in hand.

Rigsby helped himself to a second slice, then a third before Cho protested and pushed him away. From her desk, Van Pelt declined the box when it was offered to her, then watched as Jane did the same. She glanced back at him after a few moments, wondering why he never joined in their team ritual. Maybe if they had sandwiches he might, she thought. Jane seemed to like sandwiches. She wondered why.

But Patrick Jane didn't share details like that about himself. He was quick to point out others' likes and dislikes, their secrets, their peccadilloes, their heart's desires. Van Pelt was sure his trick with Rigsby had been intentional. It proved he was in a trance, she admitted, but she also knew there were any number of other ways Jane could have shown it. As usual she was left questioning his motives, wondering what, if anything, he was trying to achieve by meddling in their lives, convinced of some ulterior motive… or looking for a sign that it wasn't just sport and his colleagues meant something to him. That she did.

Van Pelt turned away swiftly when he looked up and caught her staring at him. She waited for the flash of white in her peripheral vision as he smiled at her, but it did not come. She chanced a peek back in his direction to find his face somber, a familiar sadness in his eyes that never failed to cause her stomach to knot sympathetically. He held her gaze for a moment, then folded up his newspaper and announced he was calling it a day.

Cho and Rigsby mumbled their farewells with mouths full, neither man giving him more than a parting glance. Only Van Pelt watched him leave. She went back to her work with every intention of finishing her notes, but it was hard to concentrate. After a while, when she'd been staring at her blinking cursor for a full minute, she decided to give up. Work would always be there in the morning.

"I'll see you tomorrow, guys," she said.

Rigsby gave her a swift and guilty look as she passed him, which Van Pelt tried to diffuse with a smile. She hoped the awkwardness between them wouldn't last long. Things were confusing enough when it came to Rigsby, and neither of them needed the added complication. Since his run in with Dan Hollenbeck, she was doing her best to ignore what was happening. Denial was easy.

Of course Jane's stunt had made that almost impossible. But Van Pelt was determined to try. She planted a smile on her face as she left the CBI building, over compensating for the benefit of colleagues who cared nothing for her situation with her co-worker. She let the expression drop when she reached her rental car – another reminder of Dan Hollenbeck. Van Pelt couldn't wait until her insurance came through with a replacement for the car that Jane had so successfully damaged.

She stopped when she saw the gray Citroën still in the car park. Jane was nowhere in sight. Van Pelt paused, her fingers curled around her key, as she decided what to do. Heads, go home and put all of them out of her mind. A glass of wine, a long, hot bath. That's what she should do.

But then there was tails.

She walked quickly towards the playground before she could change her mind, curious to see if she was right. When she saw his blond curly head in the distance her triumphant grin was instantaneous, if short lived. Perhaps some of his deducting skills were rubbing off on her, she thought. Or perhaps, she contemplated, she knew him a little better than she realized.

Van Pelt said nothing as she sat down beside him. She considered a few one-liners, but abandoned them when she saw his peaceful state. He was watching the children playing and parents chatting with the hint of a smile on his lips.

"Well done," he said eventually, though not looking at her.

"Thank you."

"Although it's a little obvious that you'd find me here, you have to admit."

Van Pelt huffed softly.

"My car is still there, so I had to be on foot. We were only here yesterday, and I described this place as safe, a place to relax."

"You didn't mention that you came here all the time," Van Pelt murmured. She felt another flash of satisfaction when that got his attention.

Jane's smile grew a little wider and his eyes shone with admiration. "Bravo."

She bowed her head in acknowledgement, echoing his smile. They both went back to watching the playground.

"I wish I understood how you did it," Van Pelt said after a long pause. "I mean, I watched you when you were working on Rigsby. I watched your eyes, listened to your voice, saw your movements. But I can't understand how you do it."

Jane shrugged. "Anything can be learned."

"I don't know." Van Pelt waited again, looking at him now. "Sometimes I want you to do it to me – to try to hypnotize me – so I can maybe understand it a little better. To see if you could."

Jane's eyes met hers, and her breath caught in her throat. "I could," he said.

She laughed soundlessly. "I know. That's what scares me."

"Why would you be scared?" His brow furrowed.

Van Pelt looked away, momentarily losing her nerve. Then she forced herself to turn back to him.

"Because of what I might have done if it was me instead of Rigsby. If you told me to do what I wanted most."

She offered him a sad smile then got up before he could reply.

"I'll see you tomorrow," she said and walked away.

Jane's eyes followed her, the playground forgotten.


	5. Orange Crush

**Orange Crush**

Set after season 1, episode 2: "Redemption"

* * *

Van Pelt stood in the CBI foyer and bid the Dunnigers goodbye with a sympathetic smile for the grieving family. She waited until their car pulled away before returning to the office. Lisbon passed her in the hall, talking on her cell phone. Van Pelt paused, waiting for an indication if there was a new case, but Lisbon's laugh at something the caller said and her dismissive wave to Van Pelt meant they were done for the day. Van Pelt's mood lightened immediately.

Jane was also on the phone when she walked back into the office, but he quickly ended the call with a murmur of thanks and tucked a piece of paper into his breast pocket. He sat back on the couch and smiled to himself.

Van Pelt felt herself smiling back automatically, then the expression faded as she wondered if he'd been talking to Lisbon. Maybe they were planning to meet up, careful to make their plans when she was leaving the office so no one caught them talking. Van Pelt cursed her own imagination – in an instant she pictured Jane and Lisbon together. She tried to dismiss the thought, but she couldn't ignore the way Jane and Lisbon had been interacting that day, or the hug he'd given her when they were in Bayshore. Van Pelt had watched them from a distance, embarrassed that she'd caught them and disconcerted that she hadn't been able to turn away.

She was annoyed that she felt anything at all when it came to Jane, but there was no denying it. It unsettled her. Just as Jane's dismissive treatment of her investigative work unsettled her. Just as the way he was looking at her now from the couch as she struggled to keep her emotions from view.

"Making plans?" she asked, determined to act normally.

"You could say that," Jane replied mysteriously, but he made no move to leave.

Giving her a head start, thought Van Pelt, then forced herself to abandon it. She was just thankful that Jane was still there, that he'd decided to stay with the CBI. She admitted that she hated the idea of him not being part of the team. It had been impossible to ignore the sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach when he'd started packing up his desk. But Jane was staying, and she decided it was enough to be grateful for. Anything else was just wishful thinking.

Van Pelt logged off her computer, satisfied she had done good work on the case. She was getting better at her job, despite still managing to annoy Lisbon with her meticulous preparation whenever they had to travel for a case. She was getting more confident, and had handled interviewing Kessie Dunninger without Cho or Rigsby as back up. She was becoming more accepted, and Van Pelt liked it.

"Heading out?" Jane asked, and Van Pelt was surprised to see he was only a few feet from her. Damn guy moved like a cat.

"I am," she replied, keeping her voice even. "I had a good day."

"Good for you." A smile played on his lips and he reached out and tugged lightly on the end of her long red hair before walking off.

Van Pelt frowned. She couldn't figure him out, didn't think she ever would. But that didn't stop her from wanting to try, fool's errand though she knew it to be.

"Do you need a ride?" she asked without thinking, her voice hitching in her throat. Jane turned to stare at her.

"Home… a ride home," she added quickly and with only the faintest of blushes.

His smile widened briefly, then he looked down at his feet. "I thought we already had this conversation."

"You never talk about anything, not really," she said boldly. "And you know it."

Jane gave a nod of his head in acknowledgment. "Maybe I underestimated those deduction skills of yours."

Van Pelt smiled but it was tinged with sadness. He was never going to let her in. They both knew it. So why did she keep hoping he would?

She collected her purse, figuring a hasty escape was warranted. There was nothing else to be said. But then Jane caught her arm with a soft touch as she passed him. Van Pelt frowned again.

"I'm not a victim, Grace," Jane said, a propos of nothing.

"What?"

"Never mind." He wasn't looking at his feet anymore, instead he was studying her intently. She would have given anything to be able to read his mind, but that was Jane's department.

"Let's go," he said, not breaking his stare.

Van Pelt could barely speak from surprise. Though she made the initial offer she hadn't expect him to accept it. "Really?"

"I know a place," said Jane. He held out his arm to urge her along.

Van Pelt's steps were hesitant for a few paces as she second-guessed what was happening. It felt real, but for all she knew she was imagining it. Then Jane's hand was on the small of her back and she suppressed her doubts.

They crossed the car park in silence, heading for Jane's car rather than hers. He opened the door for her and they shared a quick smile as he closed it. In that moment she scanned his face for any regret but he was too good at hiding his feelings. He took his seat behind the wheel and smoothly maneuvered the Citroën through the CBI lot.

Neither of them noticed Cho stopped in the shadow cast by the car park lights. As his eyes followed the car as it exited the gates, he thoughtfully tossed his keys in his hand a few times before continuing to his own vehicle.

0 0 0 0

"What do you think?" Jane asked.

"It's beautiful," Van Pelt replied.

Jane took a seat on the grass, his eyes not wavering from the view of the Sacramento Marina lights reflected on the she hadn't followed suit after a few moments he patted the ground next to him. With a resigned smirk she sat down, silently reminding herself she should have known better.

They watched the water for a while, neither of them speaking. Van Pelt decided to ignore the disappointment she felt and to just enjoy the peace and quiet and the last of the sunset as it dipped behind the trees… and the fact that Jane was breathing deeply beside her, calm and contented. She let her guard down with a measure of relief. It was exhausting staying alert for any Jane trickery all of the time. When he was like this she knew he would leave the cutting observations alone.

"I've never been down here before," she murmured. "Another one of your secret places?"

"Not so secret," he said as they heard laughter coming from a group around the barbeque area.

Another companionable silence fell.

"I've never brought anyone here," Jane said after a while. His gaze remained on the view.

It was enough for Van Pelt. She leaned back on her hands and smiled.


	6. Purple Heart

**Purple Heart**

Set after season 2, episode 5: "Red Scare"

* * *

It was never going to happen with Jane. If Van Pelt had learned one thing over the past year it was that.

Jane was unreachable, impenetrable. Rigsby wasn't. She didn't know where she stood with Jane. With Rigsby, it was clear. He had told her exactly how he felt without any hint of embarrassment or self protection. She didn't have to guess what he wanted. And Van Pelt was tired of having to guess. Of always wondering. Everything she felt when it came to Patrick Jane.

She sometimes wondered if she had imagined what had happened between them – the brief few hours they spent together when Jane had truly let her in for the first and only time. Since then, she had been waiting for it happen again, trying to get close to him through all of his games and misdirection.

But Jane never allowed it. She pretended that he would change, that if she persevered he might tell her what she wanted to hear. He might show her. In the meantime she contented herself with the looks he sometimes gave her, the way he called her Grace against protocol, the times he smiled at her and she felt it down to her toes, the memory of staring deep into his eyes while he was inside her and believing, just for a moment, that she had every part of him.

She'd been contented, but always hoping, always hoping.

Now, it was harder to believe his distance was because he'd lost his family and was on mission to find their killer. She used to think that he wouldn't let himself feel anything for anyone else while Red John was still out there. But she was starting to admit to herself that even if they caught Red John, even if Jane got his revenge, nothing was going to change. He was too far gone to let anyone into his life that cared about him, and that he would allow himself love back.

He would never make a declaration as Rigsby had done, never allow himself to be that vulnerable. Not with her.

Van Pelt had a decision to make. Her first instinct after Rigsby's admission was to pull away, which is exactly what she did. She kept him at arm's length, though she knew she was hurting him. She had to think, had to decide if she was going to allow herself to care for someone who loved her so completely, who wasn't afraid to tell her, and who would break the rules to be with her.

Jane would do none of those things.

Van Pelt came to the realization that she wanted them, that she deserved them. And it was time to stop fooling herself that Patrick Jane would ever be able to be that man. It was the reality of the situation, and Van Pelt was a realist. She also couldn't deny her affection for Rigsby, who only wanted to be loved in return. She could give that to him. He deserved it, too.

She didn't meet Jane's eyes over the case closed pizza as he handed her a plastic cup of priceless wine. She had made her decision. She had to keep Jane as far from her thoughts as possible – a new regimen she had started the moment she pulled Rigsby into the interview room and kissed him. She couldn't allow Jane in as she had done before, no matter how much she wanted to or how hard a habit it was to break. Being with Rigsby was certainly one way to start the process of letting Jane go.

She ignored the whisper of a voice in her head that hinted that it wasn't fair to Rigsby. She didn't listen to the taunts that it didn't matter how kind and caring he was, he wasn't Jane. She shut down the pangs of regret and longing, and sipped at her wine, hoping it would give her enough of a buzz to silence any thought but that of being with Rigsby.

At least, she tried.


	7. Rhapsody in Blue

**Rhapsody in Blue**

Set after season 2, episode 7: "Red Bulls"

* * *

Every breath hurt, every step as she made her way to the door where an insistent knock broke the silence in her apartment. She paused before she checked the peephole, breathing through the pain and delaying the inevitable awkward small talk before Rigsby revealed the real reason he was there. He loved her. He wanted to protect her.

Van Pelt knew she was lucky. Knew she should be grateful that he cared. Knew that he just wanted to reassure himself that she was okay, and may be seek some sympathy over the fact he had shot and killed someone that day. Van Pelt knew the least she could do was give him that.

Thus resolved, she leaned forward to look through the peephole to check before opening the door. But she didn't see Rigsby's tall, dark frame. Instead a bag of grapes obscured her view until they were replaced with Jane's face, grinning at her.

The pang she felt had nothing to do with broken ribs and bruises. It went deeper. And she hated herself a little for it.

"What are you doing here?" she asked suspiciously, after opening the door only a crack.

"I called the hospital and they said you checked yourself out," he replied. If he felt any concern for her he wasn't showing it. He smiled again and held up the bag. "Fruit. It's good for you. Better than flowers."

She smiled reluctantly and opened the door a little wider to accept the bag.

"Thank you."

"Is that it?" asked Jane, which caused her to frown.

"What do you want?"

"I don't know, an invitation to come inside, a cup of tea, some indication that you're feeling all right after being shot at point blank range... That sort of thing."

"I'm fine."

Jane cocked his head to one side, studying her, when she still didn't let him in. She held his gaze as long as she could before sighing.

"Jane, I'm tired. I should be resting. You should go."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "Or maybe you're expecting someone."

Van Pelt didn't bother replying. She knew that Jane knew about her and Rigsby, though he had yet to bring it up in conversation. And Jane knew that she knew that he knew. She sighed again, exhausted by the mere thought of it.

"Come in then," she said, with a hint of defiance in her voice. If he was expecting her to try and cover up her connection with Rigsby he was in for a surprise. "I'll make tea."

She didn't wait to see if he followed her inside, and heard the door close softly. Van Pelt grimaced as she reached for a couple of mugs from the kitchen cupboard and flinched again when Jane was suddenly behind and took over. He filled the kettle without a word then glanced around, fingers outstretched, as if divining which cupboard would be holding the teabags. He smiled slightly when he met her eyes, with all the pretense of reading her mind.

"Above the microwave," she said, not interested in playing along.

"You're no fun anymore."

That did elicit a small smile from her after he turned to retrieve the teabags. He took his time making a selection, long enough for the kettle to boil. He made no attempt at conversation while he made the tea, and nor did Van Pelt. She was determined not to give him an inch.

"So," Jane said after he handed her a steaming mug.

"So." She leaned against the counter, making no invitation for him to sit down. Jane mirrored her action across the kitchen.

"What's it like being shot?"

She let out a sharp breath that tweaked her ribs and forced steam from the tea to make her face flush. She lowered the mug. "That's it?"

"What do you mean?" he asked, innocently sipping his tea.

"No misdirection, no small talk? Just cut to the chase?" Van Pelt shook her head. "You're no fun anymore."

Jane smiled, even though there was no sincerity in her voice. "I figured I owed you a break."

Van Pelt's expression darkened immediately, which did cause him to react. "You figured _that_'s what you owed me?"

"Grace–"

"Don't 'Grace' me. Why did you come here?" she spat angrily.

Jane's blue eyes were wider than normal, his face devoid of any levity. "I wanted to see if you were all right. That's all."

"And you couldn't wait until I came back to work?"

"I didn't know when that would be."

"Suddenly you're impatient?" she snapped.

"I know that you've been through a traumatic experience…"

"Shut up, Jane! I'll get all the counseling I need at the office, thanks all the same."

He opened and closed his mouth without replying, the first time she had seen him rethinking his strategy. Van Pelt's anger cooled a little, but not enough that she gave in.

"Really, you should go," she said evenly.

"I'm sure Rigsby would understand my wanting to check on a colleague," Jane offered.

She smiled bitterly, wondering if he really thought that's what she was worried about or if it was just his way of covering. "Maybe. I'm just not sure that I do."

Van Pelt set her mug down and walked back towards the door.

"Grace–"

She turned around, eyes blazing.

"He loves me."

Jane stepped towards her. "As he should."

"He told me he loves me."

"As he should," Jane repeated, quieter this time.

Her resolve crumbled swiftly as they stared at each other. The ache in her throat as forced herself not to cry replaced the pain in her ribs.

"I didn't say it back," she admitted eventually.

"Maybe you should."

"Yeah," she agreed, letting out a breath and a weak smile. "Maybe I should."

Jane kept looking at her, kinder now.

"I was scared to death," Van Pelt whispered, her throat making it difficult to talk. "I saw the gun and before I knew it I was on the ground."

Jane came closer.

"I knew I had the vest. I knew I was all right. But after… after I couldn't stop shaking."

She was thankful that he didn't try and explain away her admission with a description of shock. He gave her a nod of understanding.

Van Pelt indulged herself in his sympathy a moment longer before clearing her throat. "But the doctor said I'm going to be fine. I'll be on restricted duty but–"

She could finish before Jane gently wrapped his arms around her and held her gently. Surprised by the gesture, she didn't respond at first. Then she remembered the last time she had hugged him, after Jane's close call with Red John in Tijuana. She remembered where that hug had led and wished it would again.

But she knew Jane wouldn't. Not now. Not with the likelihood that Rigsby would be turning up at her apartment at any moment. So Van Pelt withdrew from his arms before he had the chance to break the embrace. She planted a fake smile on her face.

"Thanks for stopping by."

The impersonal tone caused him to frown, but the smile did not waver.

"And the fruit," she continued. "You're right. Better than flowers."

Jane opened his mouth to speak again but she opened the door before he had a chance. She glanced quickly at him when he didn't leave, not trusting herself to look any longer.

"Goodnight, Jane."

"Goodnight, Grace," he replied quietly.

She felt a flood of relief when she pressed it closed behind him, but didn't let go of the doorknob. Her knuckles turned white as she squeezed.

A different pain to focus on.


	8. It's Not Easy Being Green

**It's Not Easy Being Green**

Set after season 2, episode 8: "His Red Right Hand"

* * *

She opened the door without checking the peephole this time, still pleasantly warm from the tequila. Too late she realized she should be more careful, what with CBI agents linked to the Red John case being killed and all. It was a sobering thought, as was the sight of Patrick Jane on her doorstep.

His expression held no mirth, his shoulders were slumped. Her stomach knotted in response. She didn't feel the alcohol's warmth anymore.

"Is he here?" Jane asked without preamble.

"Who?"

He looked at her more sharply, and she realized there was no game playing. His expression was unreadable – she was used to that. But she didn't think she'd ever get used to the raw need in his eyes. It scared and thrilled her at the same time.

Van Pelt snorted softly, her own covering tactic. "Cho had to practically carry him out of the office. He drove him home and put him to bed."

Jane nodded.

"Where did you disappear to?" The attempted lightness in her voice was poor at best.

"Nothing. Work."

She didn't push him. Didn't ask about the Red John case. She didn't want to know. Didn't want to acknowledge the only reason he was at her door.

"Are you okay?" she asked, feebly this time.

He nodded again, saying nothing, doing nothing. Then he took a couple of steps forward, slowly, until he was invading her personal space. Van Pelt's breath caught in her throat. She was incapable of a coherent thought, let alone speech. If she'd been able to find her voice, she told herself later, she would have asked him what the hell he was doing, and if he thought he could just toy with her emotions like that. She would have accused him of using her, of being an insensitive bastard who only sought her out when he needed comfort, ignoring Rigsby's feelings and betraying her own.

But she said none of those things.

"What do you want, Jane?"

He paused again, meeting her eyes only briefly before dropping his gaze.

"I want to smell like lilac," he murmured, his breath warming her cheek.

He waited when she didn't respond immediately, neither losing his close proximity nor making physical contact.

He did not smile when her hand slipped into his, and said nothing when she drew him inside.


	9. Golden Opportunity

**Golden Opportunity**

Set after season 2, episode 11: "Rose-Colored Glasses"

* * *

Van Pelt hummed quietly to herself as she made a pot of coffee in the CBI kitchen. It was late and she knew she probably wouldn't drink any of it herself, but she wasn't ready to leave the office yet and it gave her something to do.

As she inhaled the rich aroma of the beans she heard Lisbon's voice shouting a half-heartedly stern retort. She only spoke that way to Jane. They were back. Van Pelt's immediate instinct was to return to her desk. She knew Jane would have taken up his position on the couch, settling in for a nap until the rest of them left for the night. She often wondered where he ended up after that, couldn't help but be curious when he was so silent about his personal life. With all of them, even with her. With a wry smile Van Pelt reminded herself that he thought of her no differently from the others, even if they…

"Mmm, coffee."

Jane's low murmur interrupted her thoughts and she blushed in case he actually could read minds and saw what she had been thinking about. But he just smiled at her in an unassuming way – warm, friendly, frustratingly charming.

"Fresh pot?" he asked.

"Huh?" Van Pelt, annoyed at herself, recovered quickly. "Yeah, I just made it."

She stood back and watched as he poured himself a cup. She refused one for herself when he offered.

"How's the lovely Willa?" Jane said, not looking at her.

"Rigsby and Cho are talking to her now. Interrogation Room 1 if you want to sit in."

Jane eased back against the counter. "I think I've had my fill of high school drama for today."

He took a sip of his coffee and let out a satisfied sigh, seemingly ignorant of the fact that Van Pelt was staring at him.

"Speaking of drama, I heard about your little threat," she said, trying to sound angry but failing. "Nice."

"Sometimes we just need a push." Jane's eyes twinkled without a hint of remorse. "It worked, didn't it? Rigsby played the part to perfection, a murderer was caught. All in all a good day."

"You threatened to tell Lisbon about us. About Rigsby and me."

"Eh," he shrugged. "He knew I wouldn't have gone through with it."

"No, he didn't," she retorted, but still unable to successfully chastise him.

Jane held up a hand in defeat nonetheless. "I'll apologize in the morning."

"That's very big of you."

They shared a smile then, the expression fading from Van Pelt's lips as soon as she met his eyes.

"I know you won't tell the boss," she said quietly after a long silence.

"Well," Jane replied thoughtfully, "I _might_. I can be unpredictable like that."

She laughed, an eruption of sound that surprised him. His expression queried her.

"You're not as unpredictable as you think, Patrick Jane."

"Is that right, Grace Van Pelt?" he said, amused.

She grew solemn. "You're also not a hypocrite. You're not going to tell anyone about Rigsby and me."

Jane looked down at his cup of coffee to avoid her gaze. She felt a twinge of regret, as she did every time she mentioned their… what was it? Connection? Liaison? Affair? Did two random couplings count as an affair? Van Pelt had no name for it, but it had happened. Now, more than once. But every time they talked about it – or danced around the subject, more precisely – Jane got a look on his face that made her feel like she had insulted his dead wife and daughter. At least, that's all she could assume he was thinking about. Jane wasn't one to clarify such things.

There was no point discussing it. She had tried and failed too many times. Most time she didn't know where to start. It probably wouldn't happen again, she decided, even if it was hard to forget the devastating look of need in his eyes when he had shown up at her door a few short weeks ago. She hadn't expected it then, was barely prepared for it. What if it happened again? When?

Van Pelt stopped herself. It was a slippery slope. She had to protect herself. She had to think about Rigsby. She had to try and be happy, and she knew she'd be a fool to pin that hope on Jane.

So instead she smiled indulgently at him, letting him off the hook.

"Enjoy the coffee, Jane," she said and walked slowly out of the kitchen.

"You leaving?" he asked evenly.

Van Pelt glanced swiftly in the direction of Lisbon's office in case she was close by, then looked back at him.

"I'm going to wait for Wayne."

Jane smiled slightly and nodded. He raised the mug to her in mock salute. She smiled in return, with more sincerity than she anticipated, and went back to her desk.

In the kitchen, Jane's gaze returned to his coffee where he remained deep in thought.


End file.
